Free Mechanized Masterpieces: A Steampunk Anthology by Alyson Grauer, Anika Arrington, Aaron Sikes, A. F. Stewart, Scott William Taylor, Neve Talbot, M. K. Wiseman, David W. Wilkin, Belinda Sikes Page B

lads and I just looks at each other, and shake our heads.
    “No one would go to him, unless they owed him something. Dashwood is not all she appears to be,” Whipsnake says, and she’s lookin’ right at me like she’s tryin’ to say somethin’ more than she’s sayin’. I won’t lie, I were thinkin’ of the metal beneath her gloves and wonderin’ how she knows the admiral so familiar-like. But the whole thing churns in me stomach. Something about the look in Whipsnake’s eyes ain’t right.
    “Why you tellin’ us this?” I asks.
    “There are many that are owned by him that wish to be free. If you keep your freedom, perhaps you will remember it was because you were warned, and come back to help us,” she says.
    “Why would you need a couple of salt-crusted sailors when you got a big feller like him?” asks Martin. He tips his baldin’, red head to the giant still standin’ at the door.
    “The admiral is not all he appears to be, either, and some of his creations prefer their new life of metal to what they had before.” She glances around a little nervous-like, and lowers her voice. “Also, we have no way of leaving Singapore. But you have access to a ship, yes?”
    A tiny gasp, just a wisp o’ noise comes from behind the big fella. I look but I don’t see nothin’ at first.
    “Whipsnake!” The voice carries all the authority of a sea cap’n, but it came from that tiny woman who had let us in at the admiral’s. Now that I sees her properly I can tell that she was small, maybe five feet, even if she where whole. But her legs had been replaced with nothin’ but brass seagull’s feet, pokin’ out from beneath her silk shirt.
    She stands there, expectantly. Finally, Whipsnake rises and bows to us, but she don’t look at the wee little lady. She goes out the back, givin’ the barkeep a look to melt tar. The big feller just flexes his chest at us, and follows Whipsnake out the back.
    When I looks back to see her again that wee lady is gone. Such a small and broken thing as she is to move so fast. I hardly knows what to make of any of it.
    The lads is all silent.
    “I still say the captain wouldn’t do us so wrong.” Martin breaks into our ponderin’.
    “He’ll have a mutiny on his hands when the others find out,” says Beakman, takin’ another swig.
    “Well, it weren’t the cap’n who made the choice to pay off the admiral in men’s hides,” I reminds them. “Look, I ain’t sayin’ I think she done what that Snake says. But if it’s true, I say we finds Dashwood and make her account for what she done.”
    “Don’t feel right takin’ on a woman,” mumbles Martin.
    “What ain’t right is her tossin’ us to that elephant!” Beakman’s roarin’ a bit now, and Martin moves his pint out the way. “Harris is right. I say she comes to account to us before she gets the chance to pay off the a‘miral.” Beakman stands and stumbles backwards over his chair, landin’ in a heap on the floor. It’s testament to how low we is that we doesn’t even laugh.

    Well, it would have been all well and good to go about confrontin’ Dashwood for what she’d done, but we couldn’t find her. The lads at the ship is horrified by the prospect that any one o’ them could’ve been on the list to go, and they’re preparin’ to make off with the ship before we convinced ’em that there’s folks what we owed some help. They agreed to wait until dawn of the day after next. We leaves Beakman behind to see it done, which don’t sit well with me. Not that much ’bout this sits well with me. My gut is tellin’ me to be wary, and me hand is still smartin’ from catchin’ that sexton. Nothin’ worse than a cut in a man’s hand, you know.
    We each scoured the city lookin’ for any sign of Dashwood, but Singapore goes darker at night than one might ’spect. I decides to go lookin’ down the surgeon’s street, seein’ as it’s one of the few places still movin’ this hour. No church